


Sterile

by PaP



Category: Sonic the Hedgehog (IDW Comics), Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Art, Author Is Sleep Deprived, But one cannot hope to escape from oneself, Cynical, Depression, F/F, Hope vs. Despair, I Tried, I have so many bad dreams, I'm not sure what though, Inventing something new, Loss, Matter of Life and Death, Non-Linear Narrative, Older Characters, Pain, Post-War, Rouge flees from her feelings, Searching for meaning predetermined, Survivor Guilt, Tragic Romance, Trauma, We might find ourselves in other people, What is a message, When the message is lost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:42:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24490744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaP/pseuds/PaP
Summary: They had to wonder what any of it would amount to. They had to decide on their own.
Relationships: Amy Rose/Rouge the Bat, Claire Voyance/Whisper the Wolf, Tangle the Lemur/Whisper the Wolf
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Sterile

They amble side by side on the beach still seeped somewhat in the shimmering oil of Eggman’s pollution, and it is forbidden for their feet to be bare, or for children to play here, or for fishermen to cast out their nets, so the sea and shore are almost entirely deserted and their ill-fitting shoes sink into the damp, shimmering sand, every brief rise of prismatic seawater engulfing the hollows of their steps and each dragging departure erasing the winding trail in their wake, unnoticed.

“Tangle.”

“Mmyes, Whisper?”

“Hand, please.”

“Here,” the lemur says lovingly. "Take it."

Their fingers thread together, weaving in-between, naked callouses grazing and pressing against gloved silk, sharing bodily heat.

“It’s yours, now. Keep it.”

“Thanks.” The wolf smiles like prey, despite her fangs. “I will.”

“And do whatever you want with it. With me.”

“All of you?”

“Sure. You could start with my hand and work your way from there, yeah?"

"Mmph. Boobs, too?"

"Yeah, dude!" Tossing her head, Tangle briefly laughs. "Even those!"

"Awesome."

She recovers, sighing.

Whisper waits for her to say more.

"Since it’s yours, this hand, but I’m still attached to it, and all of me's attached to me and to this hand, which I gave to you, then..." The lemur inhales salty air through her nostrils. "I feel like, y’know, I’ve given you all the rest of me, too. My whole person.”

The wolf bites her lip, blushing rosily, then murmurs, "But 'specially your boobs."

"You're so romantic, sometimes."

A moment passes in heavy silence.

“Tangle,” says Whisper, breaking it, breathier than usual.

"I'm here."

Then, strained by emotions kept cold for too long, “I love you,” comes out tense and strange.

“I love you, too, pumpkin.”

Wolf turns to behold lemur, their faces mirroring adoration and lust and pain and fear and reverence and humour and sobriety.

It’s everything in the whole world, this experience, all there ever was, all there will ever be.

They have to stop this amble, the inattention they’ve paid to where they may end up having veered them deeper into the sea.

It’s biting just above their ankles, soaking through their attire, cloying and sour and vaguely caustic.

"I'm ready."

Corpses of machines litter the mainland. People will come with gloves to gather the remains.

"Are you sure?"

"I think so."

"'Kay."

The women stiflingly embrace.

* * *

“I get it, Knuckles isn’t much good at giving inspirational, hopeful speeches and Sonic’s still so worn out by the whole thing, too worn out to be expected to woo a crowd like he normally would. But me? Shit, honey, we all know you were the real soul behind the Resistance, anyway. You shouldered the whole thing, you…” Rouge only realises she’s fidgeting when those green eyes glance downward, at her fingernails, picking at the hem of her glove, before returning to her face with kindly warmth. It’s annoying and her voice gets harder for it. “Taking that spotlight from you wouldn’t be right. Honey, I’m flattered you asked, but you should do it.”

“I’m going to give a speech, too, anyway. You won’t be alone.”

“Oh. You are?"

"Yes."

"Of course you are. You have to.”

“Yes."

"Do you resent that?"

"A little. But it would be very nice, not to do it alone.”

“Get Tails to say a bunch of smart crap, then.”

“He’s far too shy. And his technobabble… It comforts him, but he’d only lose the audience, sweetie. And Vector’s too fun for this, too loud and abrasive. Besides, he’s organising the sounds and the lights. Did you know the Chaotix are performing?”

“Ugh, god.”

“Anyway. I’ve considered all our other friends. I need someone like you, someone… sane. Normal. Pardon.”

“I don’t want to do it.”

“You’re gorgeous, charming, assertive. People will listen to you. You can give them hope."

"I'm hardly even approachable!"

"Please?”

“And I’m not doing so hot, right now.”

“I know."

"It's a lot to ask. Normally it wouldn't be. But right now..."

"You don’t have to, but I am asking you, as a friend.”

"I - shit."

“Even if you’re determined to say no…” Amy closes the distance with a fond caress, capturing the bat's cheek within a strong palm. “Even if…” The hedgehog's thumb traces an anxious line, bordering anxious diamond eyes.

"Fuck's sake," Rouge mutters.

"Please," breathes Amy. "For me. An old friend."

The bat has been wounded in ways that people cannot see, ways she hides from the most empathetic, but the walls are not indestructible, she isn't made of stone.

“I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed and alone, right now,” is the hedgehog's weak admission. “So much to organise. So much to… make work, somehow, with so many differing personalities. And it all falls on my shoulders, all the time, as is expected of me. I'm tired too, sweetie. I'm also hurting.”

"I know."

Amy and Rouge assess each other affectionately.

"You don't have to. I won't make you. I'm only asking." The hedgehog tilts her head, quills shifting. "Will you do this, for me?”

"I've put my life on the line, for you. So, giving a fucking speech..." The bat shrugs. "Normally it wouldn't be so much to ask, but right now, it's difficult to stand and smile and be beautiful and speak of their pain and not patronize.”

"Yes."

"And I'm tempted to leave it all to you. What a rotten friend I am."

"I'll love you and forgive you."

"But you might think less of me."

"I think our friendship surpasses that. I understand you."

Rouge sighs, then steps forward, surprising Amy with an embrace.

The hedgehog stiffens, hand still cradling the bat’s face, even as Rouge nuzzles Amy, until the hedgehog grows very loose and weak within the bat’s arms.

“Will I do this, for you?”

“Rouge...”

"Oh, honey, I love you, too. And I guess, because of that, I could take this bullet. I can try."

"Rouge."

"I'm almost willing, I'm close enough, Amy."

* * *

Scars.

Tangle has a few, acquired throughout her clumsy, playful youth, but Whisper’s scars run deeper and she has so very many of them, echoes of past hurts, most of which were utterly undeserved.

Someone sighs.

The lemur traces their shapes, like silvery tattoos on rolling tanned curves of muscle with a sweaty sheen, only for her fingers to become confused with all the crisscrossing, aimlessly wandering like little legs churning their feet upon damp beach sand.

The wolf is spent, physically fulfilled yet emotionally empty at the same time. She's not sure what she expected their first time to be like, but this sorely disappoints her.

What happened between them was tender and bruising and lasted some hours, though interrupted frequently by guilty and exhausting thoughts of Claire and the others but mostly Claire, thoughts Whisper thought could be thrust back into the secretive recesses of her dark mind as she thrust forward over and over into Tangle’s light, until tears came anyway and the wolf was confronted with the lemur’s concerned, sweet expression from beneath, splatted by those tears falling from above.

Maybe scars are sometimes blessings to some people. They’re healed, even in their marks, which remain. Assuming that they don’t inconveniently reopen and they don’t hurt afresh every time and they don't make movement difficult, or make one ugly to others, or ugly to oneself. One who is scarred may be detested, but may also convince that they are strong. Lies are typically only known to the gaze that peers inside and few care to peer so deeply. No one sees everything, no matter how much love there is.

Maybe scars aren't blessings to anyone, at all.

Their confrontation was broken up into parts, interspersed within some of those interruptions, Whisper admitting to Tangle in these fractures that it’s not her fault, only to be gently corrected each and every instance to “it’s nobody’s fault,” and they lost count of how often they came undone despite it all and because of it all, their emotions spilling.

What happened between them wasn’t entirely alright. But it happened and they don’t want to regret it.

Stars, not yet.

It was disappointing.

* * *

“Would you like to practice it aloud?”

“No.”

“I don’t mind listening.”

“No.”

Shadow is trying, bless him, to be helpful as he watches Rouge pace back and forth throughout the war-torn remains of their high-rise, uptown apartment, clutching a handwritten script, going over and over the lines with a perverse rendition of the focus that made her such an exceptional asset to GUN, back then.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” the bat mutters in passing. “It’s all wrong.”

“What do you mean?” The hedgehog had barely been able to convince her to hand it over so he could review it. He’d found it quite sufficient. She’d even borrowed lines from a few of his books, one of his favourite poems, which, on reflection, he thinks was rather cute of her to do, even if she did so out of feeling empty and without inspiration.

“Can’t capture it.”

“Capture what?”

“The feelings of loss, the dim prospects of those destroyed lives the people are forced to go on living… because of a fucking war between a madman and his machines and us animals… and all the orphans he left behind… and all the empty homes…”

Shadow feels stupid, now, and he turns his angular face away, ashamed, to look through a fissure in the wall. The Ultimate Lifeform should consider himself lucky, as much as he may curse his immortality, because the few people he loves are still around to love him back until they will inevitably die and he won’t. It’s something he prefers not to dwell on. But he has time.

Rouge is still angry because he failed her more than once. She’s not a woman who easily forgives. And in addition to trying to help Amy, the bat is extremely stressed and it shows, though she’s typically incredibly good at disguising stress with less vulnerable sensations.

The dark hedgehog aches for her and wonders absurdly how she’d react if he offered her a cup of coffee and a cuddle on their dusty couch, staying silent.

* * *

“Hmm.”

Neither woman is especially moved, neither woman is particularly impressed, finding the colours too garish and clashing despite themselves, amidst such thin, crooked lines and indecisive shapes.

"Must be saying something really profound."

It's hardly pretty, hardly articulate, the painting on display at the saddest excuse for an art exhibition since Eggman almost took their entire world.

"Very hmm."

"Agreed." Amethyst eyes narrow critically, chin cradled in a calloused hand, like the lemur is bracing her busy brain within her skull in case the activity might carry her away, whilst the wolf remains serene and amused alongside. “Though, what other words would you use?"

"Dunno."

"Aw, c'mon. Humour me, pal. We don't get to do this every day."

"Not very good with words, remember."

"You're wonderful with everything."

A lupine snout fondly grazes a cheek.

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm obviously clueless about art, so I won't tease ya."

"Then I'd say... this painting..."

"Yeah?"

"S’intense,” notes Whisper softly, arms crossed behind her shapely back, Wisps hovering about her shoulders, bored, because they have to behave themselves in the gallery. "Screaming. Or singing."

"Huh. It is pretty loud. What's it making noise about, do you think?"

"I think s'about death."

"But the colours are so... bright."

"Mm."

Tangle's shoulders slump. She didn't ask what the love of her life envisions when seeing death. The lemur doesn't want to know.

The wolf is in a strange mood. She hasn't stopped smiling, tonight, even before the festivities started, even in all the noise and movement since it began.

"Can't it be about birth, instead?"

"Could be."

“Yeah. Like a party. Those crisscrossing lines, see? Those are the strings you tie to balloons, so they won't float away.”

A patient, unconvinced nod.

Tangle decides she's said enough, carefully shutting her mouth. She wonders, sometimes, if it's a crime to be happy with someone so miserable, someone so longing for her company.

Whisper initiates a casual, one-armed embrace, slung low about slender hips, large hand capturing the swell of half a modest backside in a possessive display. She rarely does anything so bold in public.

Neither of them is a connoisseur, a philosopher, religious. The intended message in the painting is lost on them. Who is right, who is wrong, can there be such a divide? Is it a matter of consensus, what society says is generally true? How important is the interpretation of just one person? There could be space for dialogue, an in-between. But some spaces may be inappropriate or uncomfortable to occupy. Some spaces are forbidden. Hidden.

As for the painting, the artist isn't here to defend or define their work, anyway.

They both know it, both wolf and lemur, that this outing is absurd, after a war, one last show of support for their busy friends, before they leave.

But the people have been smiling, for a change, even if the ominous painting isn't enough, even though some artists may not foresee space for the wrong interpretation of their creations, which may shorten the lifespan of the art, or render it immortal in its independent indestructibility.

Whisper leans a bit closer to Tangle and murmurs, “I love you,” deliciously into her ear, breath hot, fangs curved, causing fur to stand erect, exaggerating an already fluffy appearance.

But the lemur is in a strange mood. She doesn't say it back, her mind so occupied by everything, nothing.

"Your scent. How soft you are, but firm. How sweet and sincere."

She shivers, expression crumbling down the middle as she bites her lip, betrayed by the artificially bright lights erected in the restored building. She's exhilarated, horrified, numb.

"Your mind. Your heart. Your intentions." The wolf still has one hand behind her back, clenches it into a fist buried against her spine, instead of kneading her lover’s backside in public, because Whisper misses Clair whilst she hardly stops thinking about what she’ll do to Tangle next, when they’re together, alone, hoping that passion, if nothing else, alone may atone. And the tears come and the wounds reopen afresh, because they weren't really scars at all, they didn't keep the colourful balloons tied down.

And it's like crawling free from old, bleached bones of sexless loneliness into the sun of a future that hopefully matters, when life is so hard to live and one has grown accustomed to feeling meaningless, thus death could be seen as bright, but maybe life could be bright, too, or brighter, the other may argue.

Who is right?

Who could dare argue otherwise?

How does one choose?

“I, um…” The lemur is making noise without having the strength to do so. "I'm sorry."

"S'okay." The wolf's teeth draw closer, even when a Wisp gives the lemur a pitying look. "Me, too."

"I just wanna make you happy."

"You do."

"I don't."

"But you do."

Tangle squints at the tiny title, attached with tape to the scuffed frame of the painting, handwritten on a neat paper scrap.

A string of nonsensical words.

The artist might just be an asshole, then.

She wants to be a good person. A good girlfriend. More, if given the time and the chance. More, if only she can manage it.

Whisper gently nudges her prey, soothing, exhilarating. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. Just tired."

"Wanna get out of here?"

"We'll miss the rest of it."

The wolf rests her head against the lemur's.

"We can't. Our friends. These people."

"So, we'll stay. Wait, 'til it's over. Then go."

"Okay. Heh, reminds me. We still need to pack."

The women stand closely pressed, contemplating the painting together in an aimless way, so as not to think about their differing interpretations of the unknown.

* * *

"I believe in you."

Rouge sways in place, heart torn, and smiles at Shadow, somehow.

Even if there's doubt in his loving eyes, because she's drunk and she's afraid and he can see that.

Amy simply gnaws on her fist, gaze elsewhere, prepared to be embarrassed, resigned to it.

The script is shaking in normally deft fingers.

It's time.

* * *

"We still need to pack."

"Not right now. later."

"Morning?"

"Morning. Rest, tonight."

Whisper cannot settle in one place for too long. She’s been on the move as a means of coping with loss and to stay still does things to her, things that she can’t explain with words. Tangle does her best to understand.

"Don't feel guilty," she had said.

But the wolf felt guilt, anyway, and still feels guilty, now. As if she drags the lemur unwillingly away from the familiar, into the mystery of those long treks in the wilderness, through the ruins of vanquished cities, along shorelines licked by the burning sea and littered with robotic corpses, to end each day in nights spent lovemaking under the stars.

The painting is still there. Very real, very indecipherable. In Tangle's head. It strongly resembles regret. Wondering if Whisper wants to let go, if she ever will, wishing only that they will grow old and forget at least this damned divide. The lemur would give up so much if only she could make the wolf finally happy to love and breathe.

In this borrowed bed.

Tomorrow night, stars.

* * *

They've fallen into another kiss when the Wisps attempt to warn their people.

A low, feminine hum, belonging to someone else.

Tangle squeaks and Whisper gasps, lovers suddenly discovered, pulling apart in social shame despite their prior indecency.

“Oh, don't worry, I knew it, already."

Their hearts hurt, lurching far too hard in their cages.

“I suspect everyone who matters knows it, too.” Rouge stands behind them. She's tall and groomed and shapely in her suit, relieved to still be able to obtain one that wasn't in tatters. She has a very literal glass of wine in hand and she’s evidently quite merry on more than just the liquid red. “Ha. Hahaha.”

"Hey, girl, how're ya?"

She won’t admit how much pain she's suffered through to get here, how much pain she's destined to keep suffering through after having become aware of her emotional neediness on the wellbeing of others, her love for specific people. She smiles handsomely and hides her fears, dreading dependency more than anything else, and says, “I'm alive.”

The wolf understands.

"That's great!" The lemur could slap herself.

Eyes like gemstones linger somewhere between their turned faces, the bat instead staring at the painting mounted before them. "What the fuck is that meant to mean?"

"Huh?"

"The... art?"

"The art, yes. It's hideous. But I like it."

"How strange."

Rouge takes a sip, and judging by the slant of her hips, she evidently is not intending to leave just yet. "But I guess beauty or import aren't the purpose. It just has to sell."

"Sell?"

"The proceeds are going toward a charitable cause. Pity that there aren't enough artists left, and who the hell is still painting, anyway? But that's just how it is." She's slurring. "We get what we get, give what we give. Be grateful.”

“Oh…”

“Pretty much everything on display is getting forked to anybody who still has money these days. This whole thing? It's sweet but stupid. Not many folks can be called rich when the world almost ended and there's hardly anything to sell, anymore.”

Tangle and Whisper share a concerned glance.

"We're trying to gather funds to help some of - like a tiny fraction of - those folks Eggman left to live their fucked up lives. People without homes, without family, that sort of suffering. Like I told Shadow.”

The lemur and wolf watch the bat's eyes harden.

“It's not about making ourselves happy, again, like none of that bad shit happened. Don't let the festivities fool you. Money. That’s what this whole thing is about."

"Are you okay?'

"It’s disguised as a memorial of our war, but really, it isn’t celebrating anything. It’s trying to pave over all that pain with resources people still need to survive. Because we’re still concerned about profit. The bottom line. Nothing's free in this fucked up world. Not even when it almost came to an end.”

There's a pause.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize."

"I don't mean the shit I said. This whole thing, it's kind, the intentions are good, I hope we raise enough money to help them. I'm just venting. Freaking the fuck out, 'cause all those suffering people, oh my god, where will they go, what'll they do, why me, how can I?"

Tangle takes the initiative, slipping from Whisper's protection to plant both hands on Rouge's biceps, amethysts earnestly seeking an audience with aquamarine, the lemur stepping in-between the bat, the wolf, and the painting.

“I’m just fine, honey, I don't need a thing. I'm alive, after all. Just venting."

"We're here for you. For each other, too."

"Even if it's hard."

"Funny. I'm hiding from Amy, but I guess it'll only be for a little bit. I'd have picked a proper hiding place, otherwise. Like, if I meant for it to last longer. Forever. I know how to hide. But I'll turn up, eventually, or she'll find me. Then she'll be mad.”

Tangle embraces Rouge without further hesitation.

“I’m fine.”

Whisper takes the glass, as it was threatening to spill in the onset of such trembling.

“Amy's gonna be so mad."

"Amy's a sweetheart."

"I'm a speaker, tonight. It’s fine. I’ve gotta do it. She asked. I said I would. I'm not shy. But I don’t want to. I’m not a coward. But I don’t have the words. Of course I wrote the whole thing down, draft after draft. Shaky fucking words are hard to read. And I looked for them for hours in the dark space that occupies my head, but I couldn’t write down whatever I wanted to say. What can I say, to all those people?"

"You'll do just fine."

"There are no words. Inside me. Just noise. I wrote it down. My noise, for them. Will it...? Amy's gonna hate me."

"Easy. Breathe."

"I’ve got no words inside me. I’m… I'm so loud, but what am I even saying?”

The lemur tightens her hug, nuzzling into the bat's chest, and the wolf holds onto that glass for all it is worth.

"Fuck, I’m a mess right now. Getting lost on bloody purpose. Losing myself.”

The painting remains indecipherable upon the wall, undefended and undefined, a silent voice despite whatever intention the artist may have held in that laborious creativity, insinuating some story that deliberately got lost in obtuse translation.

"She'll be so mad at me."

"Maybe."

"But you should be brave."

"Go back to her."

"Face them."

* * *

So many war-torn people, their faces groomed as best as they can be, seated in rickety rows eager to hear another hero speak for them on that makeshift stage, a mere speech to inspire and console them, this singular voice uniting the broken families without homes, faced with the prospect of being alive.

It starts.

Suddenly, it's over.

* * *

"Ready?"

"Ready."

Whisper offers her hand.

Tangle takes it.

* * *

"Amy, I-"

Marching determinedly forward, she throws her arms around Rouge before the bat can finish her apology.

"Honey?" a normally deep voice squeaks out.

"You were perfect," is the gentle reply.

Aquamarine gemstones stare over the hedgehog's shoulder, wide and disbelieving, until Amy slowly pulls away, bringing her face before Rouge's amusing expression.

"Really," the hedgehog reassures the bat, "you were."

"Shit."

"Oh? Did you fail to notice your standing ovation?"

"Did you fail to notice my swift exit offstage? I was deaf."

"And blind. You ran right past me. I had to chase you! You moved like the devil was prodding you in the ass."

"I thought... you'd be mad, at me."

"I was. Until I listened to your speech."

"It really wasn't awful?"

"Oh, you silly thing, you. It came out better than expected, that's for sure."

"Fuck me."

"Didn't sound much like what you'd written down. Didn't trust it?"

"I... went a little off-script. Very off-script. I couldn't speak for them, not all of them, so... I spoke for myself."

"So scared, my tough guy."

"Speaking for my pain wasn't the point."

"I never said you had to embody everybody in the room! I just wanted you to be honest. Honesty inspires hope."

"Honesty can also be the most dismal thing."

"Yours wasn't. I trusted you on that and my trust wasn't broken."

"Honey, just saying, but you picked a former spy for my honesty?"

"I'm not at my best, okay!"

"That's... Hell, that's okay."

"Anyway. You pulled through." The hedgehog kisses the bat's nose, then murmurs between their hovering lips, "I'm just disappointed you just missed the applause. Mere moments after you were gone."

Tears escape the tight, shaken walls of this fortress, this prison, captured in a warm, crushing palm.

"There, there."

"I was so scared."

"If you'd only waited, you'd have heard it. It was for you, that cacophony."

"I was too scared."

"You didn't let anybody down."

"I didn't let you down."

"No."

"Even after I snuck off and hid. Then ran and hid again. And I'm drunk."

"Despite all that, I'm so pleased with you, right now."

Rouge sniffles and Amy sighs, guiding the older woman's head into her shoulder.

"Thank you."

"Mmph."

"For doing this, for me. For them. Maybe... I might not know what you need, but I'm your friend and I'm here. I'm willing. I think... Given enough time and enough chances..."

The bat enjoys the hedgehog's comfortingly soft voice, the slow circles on a lower back.

"I can do something for you, too. Something to help."

"You..." A whimper.

"I?"

"You could buy me another drink."

Giggling, Amy turns her head in the embrace and buries that giggle within a kiss, pressed to Rouge's trembling jawline.

* * *

They turn and look back, expecting to trace the journey thus far.

Outside of their own memory of this day, though, the evidence that they were ever here has been consumed by the lapping, foamy tide, prismatic.

Tangle wonders if that’s what their old age may do to them as well. If it may not only erase their pain, but also the steps they took together in everything, even in their pleasure. She wonders if it should. She doesn't like to ask herself if it's wrong to presume that it could be fair, to wish for selective forgetfulness, from within Whisper's arms.

"I love you."

A silent moment, except for that cacophony, just for them.

"I love you, too."


End file.
